


Terms of Predestination

by Atoria (vulcan_slash_robot)



Category: Totalcox - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, bad language words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 20:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcan_slash_robot/pseuds/Atoria
Summary: The first thing your soulmate says to you appears on your wrist when you turn twelve.This is not nearly as neat and tidy as it sounds.





	Terms of Predestination

At midnight on his twelfth birthday, a little boy with red hair laughed and blew out the candles, while all his family cheered.

At midnight on her twelfth birthday, a little girl in a black party dress wept tears of joy, and hugged her mother. 

At midnight on his twelfth birthday, a little boy in Newcastle went deathly pale, and tried to hide his arm.

“Oh no!”

“John, are you all right?”

“What’s the matter, boy?”

“Didn’t you get any words? Martha, did you see the words?”

The boy’s mother rushed forward, waving her hands to silence the family’s speculation. She took her her son gently by the shoulders, and knelt down to look him in the eye.

“John?” she asked, calm and soft, “Can I see?”

The child hesitated. His eyes were wide and welling with fear.

“I won’t be angry, it’s okay.”

He seemed to think it over for a few seconds more, but at last, with a slightly hiccuping sob, he held out his left forearm where only she could read it.

“….ah,” his mother announced to the room. “I thought so. Our little fellow got a swear.”

A wave of relieved laughter swept over the family, but the little one was not reassured.

“Why?” he pleaded with his mother, voice breaking, “Why would my soulmate call me such a mean name? They’re supposed to love me, why would they be so  _mean_?”

“There there, sweetheart, it’s okay,” she hugged him close and patted his hair. “No one can say how you’ll meet them, until it happens. Looks like it’s long sleeves at school for you, though.” 

                                            **************

John was hardly alone in wearing sleeves to cover his words, many children in his school wore them year-round. Some had embarrassing words, others were afraid of cruel pranks. Some, John heard rumors, were covering only blank skin, because a twelfth birthday had brought them nothing at all.

Still, knowing this did little to help John feel less torment, knowing he was waiting for a stranger to call him an awful name. The older he grew, the more he resented his words, especially after the day his sleeve slipped and someone caught sight of The Name. It spread like wildfire, until John grew terrified that he would soon recognize his soulmate among the cruel boys who loved to shout it at him until he ran home crying.

In desperation for their son’s sanity, John’s parents transferred him to a new school, and bought him a proper armwrap that would stay where it was put, keeping his words safely out of sight. Even by then, at a mere fourteen, John wasn’t so sure he wanted to love the person who had put him through this. The damage was done.

A new school was a new start, though, and came with many new people to meet. Each new person who didn’t greet him with The Name was someone he wasn’t meant for, and yet someone he liked all the better for it.

On a crowded day in the school library near the end of term, one such new person approached his table. She was carrying a heavy load of books, and her dark, curly hair kept falling over her face. John didn’t notice her until she waved to get his attention and silently mouthed “Can I sit here?” rather than break the silence of the studying all around them. He nodded and returned to his essay. There was nowhere else for her to sit, anyway.

The table groaned slightly under the weight of her books; John’s lips twitched in a smile. She was a wiry little thing, dwarfed under her reading material. He hunched closer to his work, not wanting her to think she was being laughed at. Papers shuffled and zippers zipped off to his right, but he paid no mind until someone tapped urgently at his shoulder.

John turned to find the girl’s wide eyes only inches from his own, half-shrouded by a frizz of curly hair.

“Sorry, do you have an extra pencil?” she whispered. She looked quite anxious. John wondered what dire straits her grades must be in, to leave her under such stress. 

Wary of the librarian, he made no sound but a slight, indulgent laugh as he smiled and dug a pencil out of his bag for her.

“Thanks,” she smiled back, taking it. “Sorry if I’m a wreck,” she continued, barely audible, “I’m always scared to talk to strangers, because…well, obviously.”

John laughed again. So that was it. He’d been working too hard to think of that, but with his words it seldom occurred to him in calm, friendly circumstances anyway. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not sure I believe in this ‘soulmate’ thing anyhow,” he whispered back.

She leapt back as if he’d slapped her, making her wooden chair screech across the tiles.

“I’m sorry! What did–?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she shouted, clearly mortified. “I knew you didn’t believe, but how could you be so  _ **cold**_? How could you pretend you didn’t even hear?!”

“Hear what?” John could feel the blush creeping up his neck. All the busy students had abandoned their cramming to watch the show. The librarian was heading their way.

“Your words!” the girl shrieked. “I said them, I know I did, you said mine!”

The foundation of her many-layered outfit was a black undershirt with long, tight sleeves. As John watched, she managed to wrestle the left one up to the elbow and stuck out a pale, skinny forearm for him to read. On it were printed, bold and black, the words “Don’t worry about it, I’m not sure I believe in this ‘soulmate’ thing anyhow.” The skin around them was slightly red.

“That’s what you said! They even burned, just like Mum told me! You  _ **said**_ them!”

“Children.” The librarian loomed up, tall, slim, and solemn as a church spire. He never needed to raise his voice to cow students.

“I said his words, he won’t admit it!” the girl pointed an accusing finger at John.

“She didn’t!” John protested. His voice cracked slightly. He mustn’t cry, not here, not now, he was nearly seventeen, he  _mustn’t cry_. 

The librarian looked at him. “Young man, what are your words?”

“A pencil!” the girl volunteered, when John only stared. “I asked for a pencil, ‘Can I have a pencil,’ sir, I said it!”

He held up a hand for her silence, still watching John. “Your words.”

John swallowed hard. “You don’t want to hear my words.”

“I do, or the headmaster will. Now.”

His back was against the wall. Defeated, he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing the skin-tight black armwrap. Wincing slightly, he tugged it off over his wrist, and held out his arm for the librarian and the girl to read. His letters stood out black as ever, without the redness that hers had shown. Though they were slightly textured from the fabric that usually hid them.

The librarian raised an eyebrow.

“That’s…that’s not what I said,” the girl said softly, hopelessly. “That’s not what I said at  _all_.”

“I should hope not,” the librarian said dryly. 

The girl turned and ran out the door, leaving her bag and all her books.

 “I’m sorry, sir,” John mumbled, wrestling the wrap back onto his arm, “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“See that you don’t cause anymore disruptions.”

“Yes, sir.”

It seemed to John that the girl was the one who’d caused this trouble and it should be her apologizing, but at the same time it wasn’t really her fault, either. He gathered up her things and his (library reference books not included) and left to look for her. 

Fortunately, she hadn’t gone far. He found her on a bench under an old oak just outside the doors. He cleared his throat as he walked up, to get her attention.

“You, uh, you left your bag,” he said, holding it out to her.

“Thanks,” she said. She pulled it out of his hands and let it drop to the ground. 

“Can I join you?” he tried.

“What for.” 

He took her tone as dismal, but not angry, and that made her answer a yes.

“To say I’m sorry,” he said gently, sitting down. “I did say your words, apparently. I don’t know why.”

“We don’t match,” she moaned, wiping her eyes. “How can we not  _match_.”

“I don’t know, but I meant what I said,” John was too embarrassed to look at anything but his hands. “I think this whole system is broken. You saw my words, can you imagine basing a lifelong love off of  _that_?”

She laughed slightly. “I can beat that,” she sniffed. 

Her left arm was still bare, showing the words John had said, highlighted accusingly in red. Dejectedly, she rolled up the  _other_ sleeve and showed John.

“What. The hell. Is that supposed to mean.” John gawped at the plea engraved on her right arm. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense. 

“Those showed up when I turned fifteen. I think I’m with you,” she laughed, covering it back up. “Two sets of words, and the bloke who said the first ones doesn’t have any for me? This system’s a mess.” She took a deep breath, and turned to face him. She stuck out a hand. “I’m Lora.”

“John.” He shook it.

“Nice to meet you.”

                                          ***************************

“Hold on darling, keep breathing, we’re nearly there, breeeeeathe,” John spared a hand from the steering wheel to pat his wife’s thigh.

“Just drive!” Lora wheezed back, clutching her belly as if that would help keep the baby inside until they reached the hospital.

Another fifteen years had passed. John and Lora had quickly become fast friends. Matching words or not, they had always felt easy in one another’s company, opening fiasco aside, and one thing had continued to lead to another. His words on her arm had been enough to convince the priest and they were married at age twenty-two. This baby was all they’d hoped for.

John sped up a little more, flirting with a speeding ticket with every block. It was fine. He knew this route. He’d practiced. He even knew where the cops were likely to hide. He glanced away for a millisecond, distracted by a pained noise from Lora.

The same millisecond he would’ve needed to spot the sneaky stop sign at Madison and Third. The one behind the tree, that he always forgot about.

“SHIT!”

Tires screamed, Lora screamed, John screamed, and two fenders on two cars went  _crunch_.

“Are you hurt?” John asked immediately.

“No, are you?”

“I’m fine. The baby?”

“Seems the same.”

The driver’s door of the other car swung open. The man inside surged out, whirled around and slammed both hands down on the roof of his car, quaking with rage. He screamed at the top of his lungs:

“Hey,  _ **donkeyfucker**_! Are you  _blind or something_?”

All the blood drained from John’s face. His left arm was throbbing, near-forgotten words searing into his skin.

“No,” he breathed.

Lora grabbed his shoulder.

“No,” he said again, shaking his head. He knew she knew. She knew the words. “Not now. Not ever.  _NO_.”

“I’m talking to you, asshole!” added the man outside. 

Hastily, trembling, John fished his insurance card, a scrap of paper, and a pen out of the glove box. He took a deep breath, and opened his door.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” he said, trying to stay calm as he got out, “It was my fault. Let’s do this quickly.”

The man took a step back, eyes wide. John knew that face. It was the same face Lora had made. He ignored it, and started scribbling down his information on the paper.

“H-hey!” the man stammered, running around the back of his car. “You can’t just–”

“No. I don’t care what you said. I don’t care what I said,” John glared at him from under his brows. “My wife is giving birth.”

All the hope and shock on the stranger’s face melted into misery. “That’s not fair,” he whimpered.

“Neither is growing up with ‘hey donkeyfucker’ on your arm, so frankly, fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Save it,” John shoved the paper into his hand.

“Please, don’t just leave, you cant just…”

“I can, and I will. I’m happy. Leave me alone,” John dropped back into his seat and slammed the door.

“WAIT!” 

The man pounded on their car with his open palms. John ignored him, and Lora’s teary eyes, and threw the car into reverse. The stranger had to leap back to keep from getting his feet run over. 

“Stop!” John got one last good look at the man, just as he was shifting to drive. “Lady, please! Tell him to stop!”

Lora gasped. John slammed on the brakes again just as he started off. For several long seconds he sat silently at the wheel, engine running, wife panting. 

“Fuck,” John whispered, and rolled down his window.

The stranger approached cautiously. 

“Go park your car. Then get in here. HURRY,” John barked at him.

The man did as he was told, piling into the back seat as soon as his car was out of the road. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, wiping his face and buckling up as John drove on, “I’m Jesse.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

                                                  *********

Jesse was forced to sit out in the waiting room for a long time. There was nothing else for it, John and Lora were in the middle of having a baby and that couldn’t be changed. Hours passed. Plenty of time to think over what had happened. 

Every child in this world speculates endlessly when they get their words. Making up scenarios, imagining voices and faces that will say the lines, why and how and where. Every adult who goes year after year without hearing them slowly begins to panic. 

A younger Jesse had been very amused by his words. So polite. So formal. So stiff. He’d dreamed endlessly about meeting some horribly fussy person and being the warmth in their life that finally loosened them up. An older Jesse began to worry that he would never hear them, or only in the last seconds of his life. 

As he sat at the hospital, Jesse traced the letters, finally highlighted in red that was already fading.  _I’m terribly sorry, sir, it was my fault. Let’s do this quickly_. He’d always assumed he wouldn’t be the one to speak first, or else why wouldn’t his words be something on the lines of “holy crap, those were my words!”  So stupid. Of course he’d hurt his soulmate. Of course that was the answer of a man who didn’t want him. His one and only had given him the brush-off. 

But what had changed his mind?

Finally, the doors opened, a nurse called his name, and he was lead back to a delivery room. As far as the hospital staff knew, he was just a friend, and all his fretting was for the baby’s sake. 

The baby. Jesse felt sick. What right did he have to show up now, with a little one just born? Was he supposed to steal a child’s father, just because the man’s cold dismissal was stamped in his flesh?

They turned the last corner, and there the little family sat, the newborn wrapped in blankets at his mother’s breast. John was perched on the far side of the bed, beaming down at them. Jesse noticed that although John was dressed in a short-sleeved polo, his left forearm was encased in a black spandex cover. Because it said “donkeyfucker” on it, Jesse realized. 

 _Oh god, he’s had to wear that since he was twelve_. Jesse nearly turned and left on the spot. John noticed him, though, and although his expression darkened, he waved Jesse over.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse said at once, approaching slowly.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, this day isn’t about you,” John snarled, but softly. His mind was elsewhere. “Jesse, this is Thomas.”

“Hi, Thomas,” Jesse sniffed. Thomas, predictably, did not respond. Jesse looked back at his soulmate. “I have to know why you stopped for me. What changed.”

John sighed. “Lora?”

Lora looked every bit as exhausted as she had a right to be just now, but she turned to give Jesse a lazy smile, and shifted Thomas so that she could hold out her right arm. It was shaking a little, but Jesse could still read the words. _Lady, please! Tell him to stop!_

“I always wondered why I had two,” she whispered. 

Jesse clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oh my god!” 

Frantically, he rolled up the right sleeve of his jacket to show them. The burning was real. Now the skin around these letters was just as red, seared by the voice of his soulmate’s wife. His…other soulmate? _I always wondered why I had two._

“I don’t understand,” Jesse said aloud, “I always assumed one person would say both, like, for some reason I just got the first  _two_ lines of the conversation? What is going  _on_ here?”

“I don’t know,” Lora laughed, cuddling her baby close. “But I think we’d better get to know you.”

**Author's Note:**

> There really ought to be more of this fic but interest levels weren't sufficient to make me do it. Bother me if you want more. ;)


End file.
